III. So, it is generally assumed that St. Luke made a mistake when he said that the census of the Nativity was made when Cyrenius was President of Syria,—because not Cyrenius but Varus is known to have been President about that time.—Now, there are three fair conjectures,—each of which is sufficient to meet this difficulty: but instead of developing them, I will simply remind you of a minute circumstance in Jewish story which shews how dangerous it is to press a general fact against a particular statement.—In the year 4 b.c., Matthias was undeniably the Jewish High-priest. Now, if St. Luke, describing the events of a certain day in September, b.c. 4, had recorded that the High-priest's name was Joseph, you would have thought him guilty of a misstatement: but the error would have been all your own,—for it has been discovered that a person bearing that name held the office of High-priest for one single day,—namely, the 10th of Tisri.... "A very unlikely circumstance!" you will exclaim. O yes,—a very unlikely circumstance indeed: but, you will have the kindness to observe that that is not exactly the point in question.
Why then are difficulties of this, or of any kind, permitted in the Gospel at all? it may be asked.—I answer,—that they may prove instruments of probation to you and to me. The sensualist has his trials; and the ambitious man, his. The difficulties in Holy Scripture,—which are numerous, and diverse, and considerable,—are admirable tests of the moral, the spiritual, the intellectual temper of Man[374]. Experience shews moreover that some of the minutest discrepancies of all, if they be but of a character almost hopeless, are more potent to create perplexity in minds of a certain constitution, than the gravest doubts which ever burthened the soul of Speculation.
I have confined myself to one class of objections, for an obvious reason. Difficulties which arise out of the matter of Scripture, as it is emphatically embodied in quotations from the Old Testament made in the New, must be separately considered in one or more Sermons on Interpretation. I must be content to-day with repudiating, in the most unqualified way, the notion that a mistake of any kind whatever is consistent with the texture of a narrative inspired by the Holy Spirit of God. The allusion in St. Stephen's speech to "the sepulchre that Abraham bought for a sum of money of the sons of Emmor, the son" (not the father, but the son) "of Sychem," is a good example of confusion apparently existing in an inspired speaker; but, in reality, only in the writings of those who have sat in judgment upon his words[375].
To keep to the case of the Evangelists,—I appeal to your sense of fairness, whether it be not reasonable to assume, that until those blessed writers have been convicted of one single inaccuracy of statement, their narratives ought to be accounted faultless, like Him whose Life they record;—like Him by whose Spirit they are inspired. I would to Heaven that men would have the decency to suspect themselves, and one another, rather than the Evangelists,—of mistake; or at least, before they venture publicly to impugn the Authors of the Everlasting Gospel, that they would be at the pains to weigh the evidence with the care that evidence deserves, but which I am sure that sermon-writers and essayists do not bestow. Let them spend the long summer days of many a Long Vacation—from early morning until twilight,—dissecting every syllable of the blessed pages; and then they will learn to adore instead of to cavil. They will deem them absolutely faultless, instead of daring to charge all their own pitiful misconceptions, and weak misapprehensions, and miserable blunders, upon them.—They will be inclined, rather, to challenge the world to establish one blot in what they love so well; and would gladly stake all upon the issue of a conflict before a fair tribunal,—if submission might follow upon defeat.
As for mistakes of the paltry kind last noticed—(the days of Abiathar, the sixteenth of Tiberius, and so forth,)—I wonder the glaring absurdity of charging them against Evangelists, does not strike any modest man of sane mind. To suppose that St. Matthew quoted the wrong prophet, or that St. Luke did not know the regnal years of the reigning Emperor; that St. Stephen confused Abraham with Jacob, and Sychem with Hebron;—all this is really so grossly absurd, that I can hardly condescend to discuss the question. It is like maintaining that Sir Isaac Newton, after discovering the Law of Gravitation, and calculating the pathway of a planet, persisted in saying that two and two make five: or that Columbus, after discovering America, despaired of finding the way to his own door. It is simply ridiculous!—Admirable as a subject for men to exercise their wits upon,—as instruments of cavil, objections like these are about as formidable as a child's sword of lathe in the day of battle.
I hear some one say,—It seems to trouble you very much that inspired writers should be thought capable of making mistakes; but it does not trouble me,—Very likely not. It does not trouble you, perhaps, to see stone after stone, buttress after buttress, foundation after foundation, removed from the walls of Zion, until the whole structure trembles and totters, and is pronounced insecure. Your boasted unconcern is very little to the purpose, unless we may also know how dear to you the safety of Zion is. But if you make indignant answer,—(as would to Heaven you may!)—that your care for God's honour, your jealousy for God's oracles, is every whit as great as our own,—then we tell you that, on your wretched premises, men more logical than yourself will make shipwreck of their peace, and endanger their very souls. There is no stopping,—no knowing where to stop,—in this downward course. Once admit the principle of fallibility into the inspired Word, and the whole becomes a bruised and rotten reed. If St. Paul a little, why not St. Paul much? If Moses in some places, why not in many? You will doubt our Lord's infallibility next!... It might not trouble you, to find your own familiar friend telling you a lie, every now and then: but I trust this whole congregation will share the preacher's infirmity, while he confesses that it would trouble him so exceedingly that after one established falsehood, he would feel unable ever to trust that friend implicitly again.
Do you mean to say then, (I shall be asked,) that you maintain the theory of Verbal Inspiration?—I answer, I refuse to accept any theory whatsoever[376]. But I believe that the Bible is the Word of God—and I believe that God's Word must be absolutely infallible. I shall therefore believe the Bible to be absolutely infallible,—until I am convinced of the contrary. "Theories of Inspiration," (as they are called,) are the growth of an unbelieving age: and it is enough to disgust any one with the term, to find how it has been understood in some quarters. A well-known living editor of the Gospel[377], says,—"According to the Verbal-Inspiration Theory, each Evangelist has recorded the exact words of the Inscription on the Cross;—not the general sense, but the Inscription itself;—not a letter less nor more. This is absolutely necessary to the theory." The advocates of the theory (he proceeds) "may here find an undoubted example of the absurdity of their view.... Let us bear this in mind when the narrative of words spoken, or of events, differs in a similar manner."—It is certainly very kind of the learned writer thus to apprize us of the danger of accepting a theory, which, so explained, we certainly never heard of before,—and trust we may never hear of again.
But if, instead of the "Theory of Verbal Inspiration," I am asked whether I believe the words of the Bible to be inspired,—I answer, To be sure I do,—every one of them: and every syllable likewise. Do not you?—Where,—(if it be a fair question,)—Where do you, in your wisdom, stop? The book, you allow is inspired. How about the chapters? How about the verses? Do you stop at the verses, and not go on to the words? Or perhaps you enjoy a special tradition on this subject, and hold that Inspiration is a general, vague kind of thing,—here more, there less: strong, (to speak plainly,) where you make no objection to what is stated,—weak, when it runs counter to some fancy of your own.—O Sir, but this "general vague kind of thing" will not suffice to anchor the fainting soul upon, in the day of trouble, and in the hour of death! "Here more, there less," will not satisfy a parched and weary spirit, athirst for the water of Life, and craving the shadow of the great Rock. What security can you offer me, that the promise which has sustained me so long occurs in the "more," and not in the "less?" How am I to know that your Bible is my Bible: in other words, what proof is there that either of us possesses the Word of God,—the authentic utterance of God's Holy Spirit,—at all?
And do you not feel, that this "will o' the wisp" phantom of your brain, can prove no guide to either of us in the pilgrimage of life? Perceive you not that the unworthy spirit in which you approach the Book of God's Law must effectually prevent you from getting any wisdom from it? Why, the pages which you look so coldly and carnally at, are written within and without, and burn from end to end with unutterable meaning! While you are quarrelling about the title on the Cross, you are missing the common salvation! You keep us, Sunday after Sunday, disputing outside the gates of Paradise, instead of bidding us enter in, and eat of the delicious fruit! While you are persisting that there is no beauty in the garden, (because you choose to be deaf as well as blind,)—the shadows are lengthening out, and the glory is departing, and the angels are getting weary of harping upon their harps!
No, Sirs! The Bible (be persuaded) is the very utterance of the Eternal;—as much God's Word, as if high Heaven were open, and we heard God speaking to us with human voice. Every book of it, is inspired alike; and is inspired entirely. Inspiration is not a difference of degree, but of kind. The Apocryphal books are not one atom more inspired than Bacon's Essays. But the Bible, from the Alpha to the Omega of it, is filled to overflowing with the Holy Spirit of God: the Books of it, and the sentences of it, and the words of it, and the syllables of it,—aye, and the very letters of it. "Nihil in Scripturis est otiosum," (said the great Casaubon): "non dictio, non dictionis forma, non syllaba, non littera." ... The difficulty which attends quotations, I must explain another day. It is not a difficulty.—The seeming paradox of calling a pedigree inspired, is only seeming.—The text of Holy Scripture has nothing at all to do with the question. Is a dead poet responsible for the clumsiness of him who transcribes his copy, or for the carelessness of the apprentice in the printer's attic?—Least of all do we overlook the personality of the human writers, when we so speak. The styles of Daniel,—of St. John,—of St. Paul,—of St. James,—differ as much as the sounds emitted by organ pipes of wholly diverse construction. But those human instruments were fabricated, one and all, by the Hands of the same Divine Artist: and I have yet to learn that when the same man builds an organ, fills it with breath, and performs upon it a piece of his own composition with matchless skill,—I have yet to learn that any part of the honour, any part of the praise, any part of the glory of the performance is to be withheld from him! ... The illustration is at least as old as Christianity itself. Pray take it in the noble words of Hooker.—"They neither spoke nor wrote one word of their own: but uttered syllable by syllable as the Spirit put it into their mouths; no otherwise than the harp or the lute doth give a sound according to the discretion of his hands that holdeth and striketh it with skill. The difference is only this: an instrument, whether it be pipe or harp, maketh a distinction in the times and sounds, which distinction is well perceived of the hearer, the instrument itself understanding not what is piped or harped. The prophets and holy men of God not so. 'I opened my mouth,' saith Ezekiel, 'and God reached me a scroll, saying, Son of Man, cause thy belly to eat, and fill thy bowels with this I give thee. I ate it, and it was sweet in my mouth as honey,' saith the prophet[378]. Yea, sweeter, I am persuaded, than either honey or the honeycomb. For herein, they were not like harps or lutes, but they felt, they felt the power and strength of their own words. When they spake of our peace, every corner of their hearts was filled with joy. When they prophesied of mourning, lamentations, and woes, to fall upon us, they wept in the bitterness and indignation of spirit, the Arm of the Lord being mighty and strong upon them[379]."